


It's Tickety-Boo

by Donkayballz



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a danger noodle, Fluff, Hurt, M/M, i think, wrote this for my bff so, yeahhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 12:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donkayballz/pseuds/Donkayballz
Summary: Some demons aren't so happy about being put back to work after the apocalypse and blames Crowley.Aziraphale just want to go to the Ritz.





	It's Tickety-Boo

He had not as much Fallen as Sauntered Vaguely Downwards™. It still left him, per definition, a demon. Not necessarily a very good one, some might argue. More often than not the deeds he performed were barely bad enough to be considered evil. Where other demons often would focus on a single soul, sometimes haunt them for years and years to corrupt them, Crowley was more concerned about the Big Picture; Pissing off as many people as possible with as little effort as he could was much more his way of doing it; making sure a lot of people were one step closer to being condemned to him seemed much more efficient than what others of his kind did (it also gave them the option to choose to be assholes or to be the best versions of themselves, but he would never admit to that being something he actually thought about with his deeds – he would never hear the end of it from Aziraphale). None of the other demons seemed to share his vision mind you, but Crowley had, in time, dubbed himself the Inventor of Minor Inconveniences, and was, as a fact, quite proud of himself for the things he accomplished no matter what other demons might think; Taking down every mobile network tower in London with ‘ _15 million pissed off people taking it out on one another!’_ was, he thought, one of his better ones. Truly one for the books. Of course there were other gems he had created in leagues with it such as the Z block in Tetris appearing on screen when you really did not need it. It was a moment of genius from his end. The panic in the late 1990’s when he had convinced near everybody that their computers would not be able to continue when humanity entered its second calendared millennia – oh the panic those computer engineers had gone through had been honey to his corrupted soul. One of his personal favorites, however, was the true classic of gluing a coin to the ground. He could spend literal hours just watching people try to pick it up, fail, and go off mumbling something about _immature idiots_.

Crowley, as it happened, was sitting doing just that on just another of countless of ordinary days. He sat outside a cafe, drinking a coffee no mortal would ever hope to survive were they to have a taste. The amount of caffeine he had ordered it to have, had put a look of pure horror on the barista who had asked a dozen of times if he was absolutely sure. He would not have put it past her had she asked him to sign a document stating she, and corporate, were under no circumstances to be held accountable were he to suffer any injuries related to drinking the caffeinated horror she were to make him.

She had not, of course, and Crowley had sauntered off to his table, soaking in the warm sunshine the best he possibly could before the English weather would make clouds roll across the sky once more. He was simply enjoying existing, and fully relaxed with no worries about incoming calls from Hell for perhaps the first time since the Fall, which in large part was thanks to the Non-pocalypse years prior. Since then, he and Aziraphale had been left alone from their respective head-offices. Both sides being scared shitless of them both still made the two of them burst into laughter whenever the topic came up.

It was wonderful no longer having to worry about Heaven and Hell breathing down their backs. It had allowed Aziraphale and Crowley to _finally_ , after 6000 years, hang out and do whatever they damn well pleased in each others company. No longer were there fleeting meetings and lunches cut too short at the risk of getting caught. No more did they have to pretend to be enemies in public. They could spend as much time with one another as they so desired which, as it happened, seemed to be near constantly. Crowley was pretty sure he could count on one hand the number of days they had not met at least once during the years since the Non-pocalypse and still have fingers to spare.

Today, as so many before, another dinner-date at the Ritz was planned between his angel and him sometime in the evening. Aziraphale still had to return from some book-fair at the other end of London, and Crowley, not really the book sort of type, had declined joining in and instead settled for causing mischief; under head-office’s radar or not, he was still a demon and what demon with even an ounce of self-respect did not cause trouble every now and again?

A chuckle left the demon as another human fell for his masterfully skilled trap. Oh he was an evil genius gluing that coin to the ground; how he had never been promoted to King of Hell was beyond him.

He watched as the human frustrated wandered off whilst rubbing their fingers. It did not take long before another human came along to try to pick up the coin, failed, and walked off and left a snickering demon behind.

_Crowley you mad genius,_ he thought to himself, taking a sip his coffee.

A small cloud threatened to cover the sun, but, with a glare from Crowley, it quickly got on other thoughts and made a show out of going a wide circle around the sun.

Perfect weather for a so far perfect day. What more could he wish for? Well, apart from the obvious of wanting to have his arms full of a certain angel, breathing in his scent of old books, cocoa, ink, and whatever cologne he fancied that day. Just the two of them, somewhere, alone. The taste of his angel against his lips, Aziraphale’s delightedly shocked chuckle whenever he was suddenly kissed, Crowley’s fingers sneaking under Aziraphale’s waistcoat to seek out warm skin...

Crowley shook his head, pushing his chain of thought aside before it could evolve to more unholy (lol) situations. He should not really miss his angel, should he? They were going to see each other this very evening, and they had spent all night watching bad soap operas (not Crowley’s idea), with a few bottles of wine (Crowley’s idea) between them. They had only been apart for no more than ten hours or so at this time, and compared to their countless of years of existence, that amount of time was no more than a few seconds yet they felt as though they stretched into eternities.

Deciding to distract himself, Crowley turned his attention to his phone, scrolling through the news-feed with a lack of interest. Murder, murder, theft, a fire, a cat having gone missing… He nearly caught himself picking out the most sinister ones to take credit for, for his memo to head-office before reminding himself he no longer needed to.

Right.

Scrolling further he came across an ad for a cottage for sale in the South Downs. It looked so ridiculously idyllic he was sure Aziraphale would have fawned over it had he seen it. No doubt he would be saying it was almost like those cottages one heard about in human fairy-tale stories; on top of a hill with a large garden filled to the brim with flowers, and a view towards a large lake. The cottage itself was spacious enough to house a handful of people and then some and enough room for Aziraphale to be able to house all of his books. If he got rid of half of them. _Maybe_.

Crowley tapped his fingers against the table thoughtfully as he scrolled further through the photos of the various rooms the cottage had to offer.

They had briefly joked about moving in together now that Heaven and Hell no longer were holding an eye on them, and, oh would you look at that, suddenly no one would interested in the cottage before he had shown it to Aziraphale and heard his opinion on the matter. Talk about accidental demonic miracles.

Grinning to himself he took a sip of his coffee whilst he in his mind tried to figure the best way to present the idea. He could not – for obvious reasons – just show it to Aziraphale. Crowley had an image to keep after all, so suggesting it out of the blue would simply not be right. Perhaps make the ad appear in a newspaper as the biggest ad ever to be big? Too obvious, Aziraphale would know right away Crowley would have made it like so. Leaving the ad open on his phone, not locking his screen and make Aziraphale catch glimpses of it a couple of times, spark his curiosity enough for him to be tempted to ask (‘ _my dear, what is this thing on your handheld communication deviec that I see all the time?’_ )? It seemed the better option, Crowley decided. He could begin at the Ritz this evening, just casually lay it on the table, have Aziraphale catch a glimpse and quickly snuff it away, and then do it again when they dinner-date would (as they always did) end up in them getting hammered somewhere. Spark the curiosity. Make it a temptation. A decidedly great plan, he thought with a much too pleased smile. There was no way Aziraphale would be able to withstand such a temptation; he was much too curious about certain things, especially anything concerning Crowley, so he would last approximately a handful of days, tops, before he would crack down and finally give in.

His precious, adorable, angel with his books and his cocoa and love for fine foods and liquors and his outdated style of sense and never-ending politeness and his soft skin and that twinkle he always had in his eyes whenever he thought he convinced Crowley do something out of the good of his heart when Crowley would literally give him his soul if only Aziraphale asked. He would not even hesitate.

By Go- Sat- _whomever_ \- he loved that angel. Capital L. All of them should be capital letters, really, and they would be so big that, were Aziraphale to read the word in one of his stupid books, each letter would fill multiple pages and then some just to get the point across.

Okay, maybe he _did_ miss Aziraphale.

Just a little bit.

And by a little he meant _**a**_ _**lot**_.

That soft bastard.

But he was Crowley’s soft bastard. Not Heaven’s. Not some stupid harp-playing angel too stuck up in their own arse of holier-than-thou to know how to think for themselves like Aziraphale could (granted it had taken a little while ~~_6000 years and almost the end of the world_~~ for Aziraphale to finally act fully on his own and accept his critical thinking and judgment was often much better than what Heaven had planned and decreed). Aziraphale was fully and completely Crowley’s in every aspect of the word.

What was the most important was Aziraphale _knew_. Angels and their sensing love ability and whatnot. That bastard angel had had the audacity to, one night where they had been drinking and having fun, comment on how he felt he was getting more drunk off of the love he could feel radiating off of Crowley than of the bottles of wine they had been sharing.

Crowley may or may not have decided becoming a small snake right then and there had been a great idea to hide what had definitely _**not**_ been a terrible blush.

Aziraphale had laughed at him and decided that cuddling Snake!Crowley was as good as any version of him.

Sometimes Crowley near thought he did not deserve that wonderful being.

And it was in that instant he felt the sudden change in the air, the indescribable feeling of demonic miracles doing its work, changing reality; The sun disappeared behind thick clouds that forced the humans to seek shelter from the sudden violent downpour of icy rain. It happened so fast he did not register the change before he had already gotten soaked. His sunglasses were impossible to look out of through with the heavy droplets of water running down the speckles.

Unable to see a thing, Crowley miracled his sunglasses to deflect all water (and threatened all rain to avoid hitting him), and was surprised by the sight that met him.

“Hello Crowley.”

“Uh, hi guys,” said he to the half dozen pissed demons standing before him. He did not know these guys. At all. One of them he _may_ have seen at his presentation of his work on the M25 in the seventies but other than that he had absolutely no clue who they were. But honestly, as long as they were not Hastur or Lord Beelzebub there could not be much trouble, could there. “Is there a problem?”

One of them – a short, pudgy, dirt-blonde woman, sneered her teeth at him. “A problem? Oh no problem at all! In fact, you could say everything is perfect. _Normal_.”

“Yeah, almost too normal!” Another added.

Crowley nodded slowly. “Right, right, and you’re here because...?”

“Don’t play dumb ya snake, ya averted the apocalypse!”

“ _That_ was the Anti-Christ,” Crowley corrected with a pointed finger. “I was more of a background character, _and_ that was five years ago--”

One of the demons growled and cut Crowley off. “Five years where we could have been fighting against Heaven and _won.”_

Crowley snorted. Yeah right. He had seen some of the demons train during his brief visits in hell. If it was fair-play in a full on sword-fight every last demon would fall to the blade of an angel. Playing dirty, however, would give Hell a bigger chance at winning, but none of the demons had _any_ imagination whatsoever about how to use their powers for creative fighting. Sixteen years ago, on a bench in Hyde Park, he may have told Aziraphale he doubted Heaven would win against Hell, but, if it came down to it, he did not doubt for a moment Heaven would kick Hell’s butt (again) unless every single demon finally figured out how to fight properly dirty.

Which, again, he knew they did not have the imagination for.

Had he told Aziraphale the truth of his thoughts on who would win the final battle, he would never have heard the end of it. Aziraphale would have been so stubbornly smug about it, going off on some long speech about good remaining supreme over evil.

“What’s so funny?” A demon demanded, taking a threatening step closer to Crowley who in return had to suppress a warning hiss from slipping past his lips.

“Oh no, nothing’s funny at all,” said Crowley quickly, giving his most charming smile in hopes it may help settle the demon’s temper. Knowing his kind, however, it probably did not. “Look at the bright side, you’ve been bless- uh, _cursed_ with more time to prepare. Really get them reflexes working and get those tricks worked out for the next apocalypse. If anything you guys should be thankful.”

“Thankful?” The woman shrieked. “We have to work again! We have to sit and do paperwork and read memos when we could be killing disgusting angels right as we speak!”

_Oh_ , Crowley thought in slight surprise. _Office rubbers. That explains their anger about the lack of an apocalypse._

Crowley sat up better in his chair, no longer feeling like lounging was the best thing to do when surrounded by a bunch of angered demons. Office rubbers or no, he could tell some of them were quickly losing their patience. “Yeah, see, that’s really not my fault now is it? Why don’t you take it up with head office if you’re so unhappy with it?”

“We tried,” one said, crossing his arms. There was a weird smell of death lingering about him that made Crowley scrunch his nose. “All they said was plans were canceled and to get back to work. Took some time to figure you were behind it.”

“Going native.”

“Bathing in Holy Water like nobody’s business.”

“Being best friends with an _angel_.”

“A traitor to your own kind.”

“Right, right,” spoke Crowley, words slow. He was beyond thankful for his sunglasses’s heavy lenses, otherwise these guys would no doubt have seen the way his eyes sprung from one demon to the next with a rarely matched speed.

One of the demons had moved behind his chair – the one smelling faintly of death. Crowley only resisted the urge to gag due to the increasing nervousness he felt about the situation. Perhaps he _would_ have preferred it had it been a pissed Hastur having shown up instead, even if said demon was way more powerful than Crowley was, what with being the Duke of Hell and all; Crowley, despite everything, was very much just a snake who happened to be the Inventor of Original Sin and Minor Inconveniences and a had flair for the dramatic (and was pretty darn good at performing demonic miracles if he were to say so himself). At least with Hastur he knew what to expect. These demons were new territory. They were low in the hierarchy, that much was clear, but still they did outnumber Crowley six-to-one so even if he turned into his giant snake form he would have trouble taking on this many at once if it came down to a fight.

“Why would a demon pick an angel over his fellow demons anyway?” One of them spat, his sneer showcasing a row of uneven teeth with half of them either missing or rotten. “Filthy holy angels thinking they’re so much better just because they’re in good graces with the Almighty. If you were a proper demon you should have destroyed that thing the moment you lay your eyes on it.”

Crowley suppressed a sneer and instead settled for a strained smirk. “What, and miss out on all the fun in stopping the apocalypse and meet you guys?”

Should him hanging out with an angel not be considered a huge achievement among his kind, considering the things he often managed to tempt said angel into doing? And certain other pleasures of the flesh he had tempted Aziraphale into partaking in in the few years since the Non-pocalypse. That ought to be worth a lot in Hell’s good books, if Hell could get their head out of their obsession with Opposite Sides™ for just a moment to consider the implications of Crowley’s actions regarding Aziraphale.

And Crowley immediately sent apologies to Aziraphale if his thoughts had made any implications that their relationship was merely based on work and temptations.

“You don’t seem worried,” one of the demons commented. They licked their lips as they regarded Crowley in his seat.

“Is there a reason I should be?” Crowley asked. Idly he spun his coffee cup on the table in a try to seem as unconcerned as possible. His coffee had long since been ruined by the rain, spilling the liquid over the edge on and onto the table in a terribly sad display.

So much for a good coffee, huh.

A series of various sounds of annoyance echoed among the demons.

“Smug bastard,” one commented whilst another, seemingly quite annoyed by Crowley’s idleness, swiped the mug of watered down coffee away from the table to shatter on the ground.

Crowley glanced at the demon with a raised brow and tilted his head. “That wasn’t very nice.”

The demon slammed their hands onto the table. “We aren’t supposed to be nice,” they spat, fury barely hidden from their voice. “We are supposed to be evil incarnate, and what do you do? Wander around with an _angel_ , glue coins to the ground, avert the apocalypse--”

“I do love it when you recite my greatest hits to me,” Crowley bit. The smirk he kept up seemed more of a snarl at this point.

How annoying.

“You owe us a war!”

“Yeah, see, I don’t owe you anything, ‘s not my fault the ineffable plan wanted it thwarted,” said Crowley and, much to his dismay, the death-smelling demon behind him had placed his hands on Crowley’s shoulders.

Oh, this was not good.

He scanned the street around them quickly in hopes of perhaps finding a mortal or _something_ to use as a distraction. All humans were inside, and those not were running by in such a hurry they either did not see, did not care, or simply could not, if these demons had decided to hide their presence.

“You owe us a war,” the woman spoke in a voice cold as ice. “But since Hell doesn’t want to anything about it, or you, well---” She waved her hand in a vague gesture and suddenly there were more hands grabbing at Crowley. A warning hiss left him when he pulled his arms free from the demons’ grasps, only to end in a pained groan as a fist met the soft of his stomach, sending Crowley doubling over and in on himself. “Seems we should remind you what happens to traitors.

* * *

Aziraphale glanced up at his watch for what felt like the billionth time. Crowley was late. It was not unusual for the demon to be _fashionably late_ , as he so often called it, but… Aziraphale could not shake the feeling something was wrong. It had only been less than half an hour since they were supposed to meet up and go to the Ritz. Their table would wait all night for them and even if it did not, a miracle would ensure there would be one available to them whenever they wanted.

Crowley was merely busy with something; causing mischief no doubt.

Taking a sip from his cocoa, Aziraphale went back to his newly acquired books (if Crowley were going to be late, he may as well choose to entertain himself meanwhile). The book-fair had been absolutely marvelous. Being surrounded by fellow book enthusiasts had truly been a delight. So, yes, he may not have found a lot of rare editions for him to add to his impressive collection, but what few books he had found seemed to have quite the plot and had caught his interest immensely. Some of these new writers truly did have a curious imagination. Truly, the stories some could tell.

Aziraphale forced himself to focus solely on the pages before him, temporarily forgetting the world around him as the book dragged him further and further into its world. He was near finished with another chapter when he reminded himself of Crowley and the Ritz, and looked upon his watch once more.

“Goodness, I do believe he forgot,” Aziraphale remarked to himself and the empty shop. Crowley was near two and a half hours late. Fashionably late for Crowley stretched usually to an hour, tops.

Putting his book aside Aziraphale went for his telephone, waiting expectantly for the demon to pick up.

A scoff left Aziraphale when the familiar words of ‘ _This is Anthony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style,’_ met his ear. Not unusual. Crowley rarely picked up his phone right away.

“Hello Crowley, it’s Aziraphale,” Aziraphale began, glancing at his watch. “I do believe you have forgotten our date tonight. Dinner at the Ritz, if you recall? I know you love to be fashionably late, but I do believe near three hours is a bit much. Do call me when you hear this. I know you may be busy with whatever you do, but I will try your other telephone to see if I can conta---” a beep from the answering machine interrupted Aziraphale from finishing his sentence.

Very well then.

Aziraphale dialed in the number to Crowley’s handheld telephone (mobile, was it not?), hoping for better luck in contacting his dear friend.

“ _Hm?”_

Startled Aziraphale gave a light jump at the sound of Crowley’s voice. He honestly had not expected the demon to pick up. “Oh, Crowley dear, it’s Aziraphale,” Aziraphale began, giving a nervous smile to the phone. “I do believe you may have forgotten about our plans for dinner. You are quite late in fact, more so than you use to.” When Crowley did not respond, Aziraphale continued. “My dear, I would like to know why you could not have given a call that you were going to be so delayed. I have been quite worried.”

Silence was what met him from the other end, from the demon at least. The horrible elevator music from the elevator of Crowley’s building was playing in the background.

“Crowley?”

“ _Sssorry_.”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “Did-- Did you just apologize?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Crowley grunted. He sounded rather strained when the elevator announced his floor.

Aziraphale fell silent with a worried frown. This was… weird. “Are you alright?”

“’ _m fine angel_ ,” Crowley spoke through a hiss. “ _It’sss tickety-boo_.”

Now, when two beings has known each other through six millennia, it was only natural to get accustomed to the different ways one’s counterpart sounded and what those specific sounds meant. Hissing, for Crowley, either meant that 1) he was in a teasing mood 2) he was under immense stress 3) he was in pain 4) he was a snake.

Giving the apology (Crowley never apologized unless he was absolutely desperate (see: Non-pocalypse, where he had asked Aziraphale to run away with him)), and the fact that he had said ‘ _Tickity-boo_ ’, there were really only one conclusion Aziraphale could come to.

“Crowley, did something happen?”

Silence.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted in a rather impolite and stern tone he hoped the other would forgive him for.

“’ _tis fine. Sssee you tomorrow, Angel.”_

He hung up.

Aziraphale blinked at the phone in his hand, taken slightly aback but was not entirely surprised. Crowley was not the most polite of person, what with being a demon and all so just hanging up like that was near routine.

Something was definitely up with his dear friend, Aziraphale concluded, and that was how he, a good twenty minute walk later, ended up standing outside Crowley’s flat. Crowley had sounded just off enough on the phone that Aziraphale felt it was his duty to at least check up on him. If he were to be turned away at the door so be it.

However, the demon did not open the door for him after having knocked on the door (rather politely he would argue and definitely _not_ just a tad bit obnoxiously).

Well, Aziraphale thought after a couple of minutes of waiting. Surely Crowley would not mind if he let himself in. The demon did so often enough with Aziraphale’s bookshop without knocking, so a single time would not hurt. They were friends, and, most recently, had turned to lovers. Crowley had said, when he moved in decades ago, that Aziraphale was always welcome, so-- oh look, the door opened all by itself. Why, it was almost as though a tiny angelic miracle had happened.

“Hello Crowley,” Aziraphale called when he entered through the door and politely closed it behind him again. “I know you said we would see each other tomorrow, but I thought why waste such a lovely evening? I brought your favorite wine.” Well, _now_ he had, now that it appeared in his hand as he spoke the very words. It made it technically not a lie.

“Told you I would ssssee you tomorrow.”

Aziraphale near jumped from the sound of Crowley’s voice (or hiss) being carried down the hall from the living-room. “I am aware, dear,” Aziraphale spoke, straightening himself as he began striding to where Crowley was hiding. Because he was. He could tell. “And just why are you a snake? I thought you had grown attached to your extra limbs.”

“’ssss nothing,” sounded the reply from somewhere in the much too luxurious to be comfortable sofa in the living-room. Even the few pillows there were definitely not made for comfort.

Aziraphale let out a slight hum as he searched the sofa, soon finding the black tail end of Crowley’s snake form. Oh honestly. Aziraphale was just about to remove the pillow Crowley was hiding underneath when he stopped, eyes slightly wide at what he thought he saw. “Dear, is that blood on your soda?”

No reply.

“ _Crowley_?”

“… took a ssssnack...”

Aziraphale raised a brow. “A snack?”

“… there was a mouse? And I ate it?”

“A _mouse_?”

“Issss there an echo in here?”

“Your apartment is afraid of letting mice anywhere near it,” Aziraphale commented. “And you have never, in the six thousand years I have known you, ever mentioned anything about eating mice. Excuse me if I do not believe you, my dear.”

There was a grumble from underneath the pillow (or the equivalent of a demon-snake grumble). Crowley’s tail disappeared underneath it.

“Dear, I will not leave before you tell me what has happened.”

No reply.

Aziraphale cast a glare at the pillow. He tried to pull it off the snake, but said angry noodle seemed to have cursed it into staying put. Very well then.

Abandoning the sofa, Aziraphale walked to the nearest plant with determined steps. The plant trembled slightly at his approach but Aziraphale made no hint of interacting with it. Not yet anyway. He gave Crowley’s hideout a stolen look as he gave his dear friend the chance at, well, coming out of his hiding place and talk. And he let him know. He gave him the warning.

Painfully slow minutes went by but no Crowley showed.

This left Aziraphale no choice.

He turned to the trembling plant before him, took one of the leaves in his hand and--

“Oh look at you, you are such a beautiful specimen aren’t you?” Aziraphale cooed to the plant as he gently caressed the leaf between his fingers. “You are so beautiful. Is the bad Crowley mean to you? Don’t worry, it’s all an act. You know, he is such a _nice_ and _kind_ person underneath. I do believe he really do care for you but he just isn’t good at showing it. But oh, don’t worry, he loves you and your fellows very much. Just look at you! You are so very beautiful! You are so brave for standing up and facing that mean old demon day in and day out. I am _very_ proud of you. Here, have a small blessing--” A wicked smile spread on Aziraphale’s lips at the horrified hissing sounds from under the pillow. He ignored them in order to continue praising Crowley’s plants and give them just a hint of a blessing. “Oh, but you know you are beautiful. You are so vibrant and green and luxurious and just look at you! You must be the most beautiful plant I have ever seen!”

“Aziraphale, don’t!” Crowley finally exclaimed. “They won’t stay in line! They need the respect!”

“Oh, no they don’t,” Aziraphale cooed with gentle caresses of the plant he was fawning over. The plant, in return, was near clinging to him, showering him in desperate love. “They just need love and positive reinforcement. Isn’t that right, you beautiful plant you?”

“I am _actually_ begging you.”

“Oh? You will tell me what is wrong then?” Aziraphale asked a certain inconspicuous pillow.

There was another groan and then silence.

“I will keep giving your plants blessings,” warned Aziraphale with a raised brow. “I believe when I am done they will no longer listen to you.”

Crowley hissed. “ _Angel_.”

“Yes my dear?”

There was another groan, or growl, it was hard to tell when it came from a snake.

Aziraphale waited for a response but of course nothing came. “If everything was fine, you would not be hiding from me under a pillow.”

“’m not hiding.”

“No? Then what do you call this, I wonder?” There came no response because of course there did not. This was Crowley, the perhaps most stubborn demon in Hell. Aziraphale let out a sigh. Very well then if this was how it was going to be…

He moved on to the next plant, already showering it in compliments so sweet he was certain Crowley was gagging in his hideout. It took him but another plant or so (with constant groans and begging form a certain Serpent of Eden for him to stop) before finally Crowley seemed to have had enough.

“Fine, you win!” The serpent exclaimed, finally showing itself.

Aziraphale was unable to not look just a little smug at the snake when he turned to face it. “So?”

Crowley was glaring at him, even with the limited ways a snake could express itself, it was quite obvious. He swayed slightly back and forth in his serpentine form; the movements stiff and careful. They were far from as fluent as they usually were whenever Crowley reverted back to his snake form.

A long minute of absolute silence stretched between them where the two did nothing but stare at one another.

Crowley turned away and curled in on himself on the sofa, hiding his head under his own body.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began in a warning then cut himself off with the slightest of sighs. This would not do. He tried again, this time in a much more careful and worried tone as he sat down beside the small pile of black snake on the white leather couch. “Dear, will you please tell me what is wrong with you?”

Silence.

Aziraphale stayed silent as he waited for his friend to speak.

The serpent squirmed underneath his gaze. Although Crowley could not see it, he could certainly feel it. Still, the stubborn snake did not speak.

“Crowley please,” Aziraphale settled for begging, sounding just heartbroken enough to know Crowley would not be able to withstand it.

And he could not.

“I’m sorry, what? I did not quite get that?”

A pair of golden eyes became visible from the pile, glaring up at Aziraphale.

“Really. Are you going to stay a snake during this whole conversation?” Aziraphale sent Crowley a patient (if slightly annoyed) smile. “What is it with you today? First you forget about our dinner then you will not even explain to me why, and now you decide that being a serpent is the best way to tackle this?”

Crowley stayed silent and continued to stare at him.

Aziraphale clicked his tongue. “Very well then.” He got up from his seat on the sofa. Adjusting his waistcoat he turned to leave.“I thought we were on our side, but I believe this means you do not love me enough to tell me what is going on with you. I will be at the bookshop if you need me.”

He began to leave.

For each step he took, he began counting down in his mind.

_Five..._

_Four…_

_Three…_

_Two…_

_One..._

“Angel!”

Aziraphale stopped with a smirk. It was, of course, gone when he turned back with a mask of careful interest.

The snake was gone when Aziraphale faced it again, instead replaced by a full-fledged human figure sitting in its place. His fiery hair was a horrible mess, nowhere near as carefully styled as it usually was. Crowley was not looking at him, instead his face was shielded behind his, oddly enough, glove-covered hand as if he was hiding.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley’s audible winch when he shrugged his shoulders did not pass him by.

With narrowed eyes Aziraphale made his way to the demon. There was a slight tremble running through him when he stood before his beloved. An odd discolor at Crowley’s hairline caught Aziraphale’s attention.

Careful hands found Crowley’s chin.

There was a bit of protest, an internal struggle form the demon before finally he gave in and let his hands fall, allowing the angel see his face when he carefully tilted his face up.

Delicately Aziraphale let his thumb run over a small line of blood running from Crolwey’s chipped lip. He said nothing as he examined it, instead simply took in the sight of his lover’s condition; Dark bruises painted his skin in a variety of colors as an artist’s palette. Fresh open cuts and scratches littered his skin.

Gently Aziraphale removed the sunglasses, revealing beneath it a horrible black eye making it near impossible to see the gold of Crowley’s serpentine eyes.

There was a brief pause.

Crowley looked nervously at him when Aziraphale caught his gaze, looking him dead in the eye.

Aziraphale’s voice was quiet and tense with barely restrained worry and anger.

“Who did this to you?”

Crowley looked away, saying nothing.

“Who did this,” Aziraphale repeated.

The demon gave a shrug. “There was a couple demons that weren’t happy ‘bout the Apocalypse That Wasn’t.”

“That was five years ago--”

“Didn’t seem they cared,” Crowley bit with an awkward movement of his body that only resulted in him groaning out in pain.

“And they just decided to beat you up,” Aziraphale asked in surprise to which Crowley grunted in confirmation.

Aziraphale let gentle hands caress Crowley’s face, his thumbs gently dancing above the bruises, sending small blessings and miracles into the demon’s skin to heal the worst ones. The black eye disappeared after a few minutes of work.

Crowley let out a small sigh of relief. He rested his head against Aziraphale’s stomach who in return continued to caress the demon.

“Are there other places you need healing, dear?” Aziraphale asked gently.

He should honestly have expected the answer that came.

“’s fine.”

With a raised brow Aziraphale slid his hands down Crowley’s back and applied just a tiny bit of pressure; the reaction did not surprise him when Crowley almost began sobbing from pain. “You really expect me to believe that?” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and Crowley’s clothes disappeared, leaving him in nothing but his smalls. Had it not been because Aziraphale had gotten an idea already of what was hiding underneath, from the state of Crowley's face, he was certain he would have gotten a shock by seeing the mere myriad of color from bruises and wounds decorating the rest of Crowley’s body.

“At least take me out for dinner first,” panted the demon between his groans and barely hiddensobs of pain when Aziraphale urged the demon to lie down onto the couch.

The angel rolled his eyes at the response. His hands already glowed slightly of divine light as miracle after miracle was put to work to sort out the mess that was Anthony J. Crowley. “I would have, but a certain demon I know, decided getting beaten up was more entertaining than a dinner at the Ritz.”

“You just wanted to sssee me naked.”

“I saw you plenty naked last night,” Aziraphale commented unfazed. “Or have you forgotten?”

There was no response. No verbal one at least. Crowley’s sudden blush and his need to hide his face out of sight spoke more than enough.

Silence settled whilst Aziraphale worked on Crowley.

Occasionally he would ask questions about what happened. How many demons were there? What did they do? How did he get away? Would they come back?

All he got was mostly vague answers muffled by the leather couch.

Aziraphale did not press much into the matter. He was being much too focused on healing Crowley to an acceptable level of bruising so he no longer looked like he had a sickening version of a sunset painted onto his back and his front. Aziraphale found at least two broken rips and a stab-wound, which did explain his lack of ability to move as fluently as he normally would as a serpent. Aziraphale was just glad none of the bruises had been bad enough to discorporate Crowley. He highly doubted hell would offer him a new body after what the two of them did to the Apocalypse.

When Aziraphale was mostly satisfied with his work, only letting a few tiny ones stay behind, he sat down beside Crowley. He adjusted Crowley just enough for his head to rest on his thigh. One of Crowley’s arms habitually found its way across up, hugging Aziraphale’s thigh.

Crowley’s eyes had long since closed while Aziraphale did his work. He was not sleeping, yet, but the calm that had washed over him during the healing may as well have made him succumb to his favorite sin, sloth. No doubt the exhaustion from what had occurred to the demon had taken a toll on him enough for him to wish to rest.

Aziraphale miracled a plush, warm blanket over Crowley’s body. He watched as the demon’s breathing ceased to a halt as he fell asleep, laying completely motionless, whilst Aziraphale ran his fingers through the demon’s fiery locks until they were soft in a way a demon’s hair should not be.

The heavy rain was hitting the large windows; a steady drum in the background lulling the senses.

When the demon awoke again, Aziraphale would question him, this time properly, about what happened but for now he would allow his beloved to chance to rest.

Aziraphale reached for the newspaper on the coffee-table, absentmindedly starting to go through the pages of news of whatever tragedies were happening in the world. Although most supposed news were always the same, Aziraphale found it fascinating all the same to see just what humanity thought interesting to read.

He was a good halfway in when something caught his interest; an ad for a decently sized cottage was on sale in the South Downs. It looked like something out of a human fairy-tale, Aziraphale thought, with its idyllic garden and view to a beautiful lake. The cottage surely would be able to house most of Aziraphale’s books, and, most importantly, Crowley’s terrified plants.

Well, Aziraphale thought to himself, they _had_ jokingly talked about settling down at some point. Find somewhere nice outside of London for just the two of them.

Still, Aziraphale needed some time to consider. To work it out in his mind.

How was he even going to present the idea to Crowley to ensure he would say yes, and-- oh look, nobody would be interested in the cottage before Aziraphale had had enough time to consider and present the idea to Crowley.

Talk about accidental angelic miracles.


End file.
